


An Instruction in the Proper Use of the English Language

by SStar



Series: The trials and tribulations of the British Government [2]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Abuse of British politicians, BAMF Mycroft, British Politics, Food Kink, M/M, Mycroft IS the British Government, Snark
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-04-02
Updated: 2014-04-02
Packaged: 2018-01-17 21:05:34
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,792
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1402426
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/SStar/pseuds/SStar
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>A follow-up from <b>Performance Review Time</b>. BAMF!Mycroft is just delightful when he's insulting politicians!</p><p>This time the 'victim' is the Prime Minister.</p>
            </blockquote>





	An Instruction in the Proper Use of the English Language

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: all characters belong to ACD, Moffat, Gattis and the BBC. I own nothing. 
> 
> Unbeta'd, mainly edited - all mistakes are my very own.

“For god’s sake, the difference between _effect_ and _affect_ is really quite simple. The former is a noun, the latter a verb!”

John blinked. He replayed the just-uttered comment in his mind and decided that yes, it was Mycroft who had been speaking. Taking the final few steps into 221B proper, John stood in the doorway of the living room, a touch apprehensive at the Holmes-situation he was about to enter unto. Mary had asked him that morning to return a couple of books to Sherlock on his way home from the practice and it seemed it was just his luck that Mycroft was also visiting at the same time. No doubt harassing Sherlock on some matter or another which meant that John was probably going to have to play referee rather than a relaxing hour or so chatting with his best friend.

To his surprise, the two brothers were not at war with one another. Mycroft was seated comfortably, rather _too_ comfortably in his opinion, in John’s armchair, legs crossed and slim fingers holding his phone to his right ear. From his position at the door, John could only see the back of Mycroft’s head but he could clearly see Sherlock, whose attention was fully on his elder brother, and he looked cheerful, delighted even. John wasn’t quite sure how to place the bowl of popcorn that Sherlock held, the image of his best friend who frequently ignored the basic necessity of sustenance during cases and was not known to snack was incongruous.

“Is that popcor-”

“Shush!” He’s interrupted with a flick of Sherlock’s fingers, which is quickly followed by a glare from Mycroft who had to twist in his armchair.

“That’s not to mention the number of times I’ve seen _your_ and _you’re_ used incorrectly. I find it tremendously aggravating but mostly incomprehensible that these errors are still occurring.”

John entered the room proper and made his way to the table to deposit the books he was returning before pulling an empty chair out and taking a seat next to Sherlock’s armchair. “What’s going on?” he asked the consulting detective from the side of his mouth.

“Mycroft’s on a call.”

“I can see that,” John replied a little testily but still kept his voice low. “Why do you have popcorn and why are you watching Mycroft talking on his phone?”

Sherlock glanced at him, raising an eyebrow. “In _that_ order?”

John rolled his eyes. “Whichever one gets me some answers would be nice, Sherlock.”

“Mycroft bought the popcorn,” Sherlock replied. “He lost a wager. And he’s on the phone with some idiot.”

“He bought you popcorn?”

Sherlock took a mouthful before offering the bowl to John, who politely grabbed a handful. “Since when do you eat _sweet_ popcorn?” John asked incredulously. He’d never discovered this in the time he’d lived with Sherlock and found himself very definitely confused.

Sherlock shrugged. “Mycroft likes it.”

“Why don’t you offer him some?”

“While he’s on the phone?” Sherlock criticised, and John admitted to himself that was a rather stupid suggestion. “Anyway, Mycroft doesn’t eat popcorn. Bad for his diet.”

“Surely you have a process in place to stop such simple errors from appearing in issued documents, Prime Minister?”

The elder Holmes’ words penetrated the general uneasiness John was experiencing. “Did he just say _Prime Minister_?” John was fairly sure he caught a glimpse of Mycroft rolling his eyes at his question and Sherlock was … smiling indulgently. “ _Sherlock_ ,” he hissed. “You can’t call the Prime Minister an idiot!”

“Prime Minister, I was led to believe that Eton was not in a habit of producing idiots,” Mycroft grumbled into his phone.

John knew his face had to be a picture of shock, astonishment even.

“He’s such a drama queen,” Sherlock murmured, in between the enthusiastic chewing of popcorn, in a _fond_ tone.

“Can Mycroft even call the Prime Minister an id…” John trailed off.

“An idiot?” Sherlock finished brightly. “Of course he can.”

“Then pray tell me how it is that the last thirteen emails, two defence briefings, three budget queries and one draft speech, the latter for some incomprehensible reason written by your own hand rather than sent to myself electronically, a topic we shall return to another time,” Mycroft continued ominously, “were littered with dozens of different spelling and grammatical mistakes.”

John couldn’t help but admire the elder Holmes, who sat in _his_ chair looking every bit the refined civil servant that he was, and yet at the same time was acting as an utterly smug, condescending bastard; his lips curved in a half-amused smile that John had never seen on Mycroft before. He’s catalogued the polite smiles, the disparaging and mocking ones and he absolutely despised the one that practically screamed _I-can-read-everything-about-you-and-you-will-dance-to-my-tune_. This particular smile made the elder Holmes look, well John’s wasn’t entirely sure how to describe it, but he definitely felt the shiver that ran down his spine.

“He’s in his stride now,” Sherlock commented at his side.

John’s gaze slid to his right and he was bemused at Sherlock’s charmed smile. “You’re both insane. Are you really enjoying this?”

“Why shouldn’t I?” Sherlock demanded. “He’s irritatingly good at this.”

“But you can’t just call the Prime Minister an idiot,” John chastised as his mind called up images of the Prime Minister from the papers or the news; another smug politician with pale skin and fake smiles, ruddy cheeks and blue ties. The image flickered and now the man definitely wasn’t smiling, more flustered with skin reddening from irritation, anger or embarrassment. A little hot under the collar.

“While I could come to accept the odd correction on a hand-written copy,” Mycroft replied to something the Prime Minister had obviously offered in his defence. “What I fail to understand is how, in this modern age with laptops, tablets and smartphones all equipped with work processing software and _spell-check_ functionality, that even your electronic communications are full of errors!” John twitched as Mycroft’s smile turned predatory. “Prime Minister, surely you weren’t about to try and place the blame for your educational deficiencies on a secretary or assistant?”

“Isn’t Mycroft worried about retaliation?” John asked in a hushed voice.

Sherlock snorted, his lips curled into a smirk. “It’s Mycroft. He can do what he likes,” Sherlock said in a dismissive tone. “He is, after all, the British Government.”

“I thought you were exaggerating when you said that,” John admitted.

“John, Mycroft can start and end wars, manipulate elections to his favour and if he really felt the urge, I imagine he could impose a new world order,” Sherlock commented in a bored voice. “It’s a good thing he’s on the side of angels.”

For a few seconds John saw Mycroft, with his immaculately put together wardrobe, sporting a moustache that he liked to curl at the tips as he threatened and ordered a group of minions to do his bidding and John found that he had to choke back the laugh that threatened to escape. To John, trying to imagine the Mycroft that he knew as a criminal mastermind, like Jim Moriarty, was ridiculous.

“Moriarty would be nothing compared to Mycroft’s potential as a villain,” Sherlock replied, as John held back a sigh at being read quite so easily.

John decided a change in subject was the best course of action. “How much longer do you think he’ll be?”

Mycroft interrupted any reply that Sherlock was about to make. “Prime Minister,” the elder Holmes began, in a voice that John could only describe as unctuous. “Surely you see the irony in your situation whereby the speech you have drafted on the falling standards of Maths and English within our secondary schools is littered with spelling and grammar mistakes.”

Sherlock chuckled, more of a deep rumbling in his chest really, as he kept his gaze on Mycroft as his fingers returned to the bowl of popcorn in his lap. “Oh, when Mycroft sets his mind to something, he can go on for an absolute age.”

John rolled his eyes and quickly came to a decision. While the prospect of watching Mycroft continue to scold the Prime Minister was novel, it didn’t appeal to John’s idea of a relaxing evening and he decided that he’d best leave the two brothers to whatever it was about the bizarre situation that appealed to their sense of humour.

 

* * *

 

“Very well, Prime Minister,” Mycroft replied. “Those sounds like perfectly acceptable remedial actions that you and your office will undertake. I very much hope to see an immediate increase in the quality of outputs I receive from you.”

Sherlock put aside the half-empty bowl of popcorn, knowing his brother’s conversation was coming to an end.

“Of course. Do have a good evening,” Mycroft said, before ending the call. He looked back at Sherlock and sighed. “Do you consider the wager fulfilled, brother dear?”

Sherlock smirked, a devilish glint in his pale blue eyes. “That depends,” he challenged. “Tell me.”

Mycroft huffed but his voice betrayed him with its indulgent tone. “Two pieces of glassware.”

“And?”

“Four books, one of which was a dictionary-“

“Pity,” Sherlock interrupted. “I imagine that could have been put to much better use,” he commented wryly.

“Indeed,” Mycroft replied with a smile. “Three pens and I think he may have cracked his laptop.”

Sherlock chuckled. “That’s a new record.”

“So?”

“Yes. I’ll consider the wager fulfilled.”

Mycroft sat back in his chair. “We will not be playing Cluedo again, Sherlock. You cheat.”

“Oh please, you enjoyed telling the man off,” Sherlock countered.

Mycroft’s eyes flicked up to the ceiling for a second in exasperation. “You’re not the one who’ll have to put up with his sulking for the next … twenty-two days, I think.”

Sherlock pouted, before his expression brightened. “Well, don’t you want your reward?”

Mycroft hummed. “Come over here,” he said in invitation.

“Lazy sod.”

“Insolent brat.”

Sherlock huffed as he pushed himself of his chair and took the single step to stand over Mycroft. “I don’t know why I should,” he grumbled as he folded himself into the small space, a knee resting between Mycroft’s legs and forearms resting against the top armchair.

“You indulge me because you enjoy how I can provoke you,” Mycroft countered, as he reached up with one hand and pulled Sherlock’s face closer.

Sherlock sighed – _contented_ – as he felt Mycroft’s lips brush his own, light strokes of tongue. “If only everyone knew what a terrible influence you are,” Sherlock murmured between kisses.

“Me?” Mycroft replied archly.

“Plying me with popcorn so you can have your wicked way with me,” Sherlock continued, ignoring Mycroft.

“Oh hush,” Mycroft reprimanded before nipping at Sherlock’s jaw.

Sherlock lips curled into a smirk as he pressed them to his brother’s lips. “Make me!”

**Author's Note:**

> I think there should definitely be a lot more BAMF!Mycroft fic. 
> 
> There is a part three in the works - well, there is the gem of an idea for part three in my head at the moment. Finally, I really do hope I've not made any spelling or grammar mistakes in this - that would be a touch embarrassing!


End file.
